Page 92 of Tainted Princess
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Francesca
For the second time in my short marriage, I woke up in bed with Enzo.
But this was the first time I didn’t feel completely awkward about it.
The sun had risen a while ago, and while the curtains still weren’t drawn, so far, the bright yellow ball was still hidden behind the towering buildings across from us, casting the bedroom in a soft golden light. I lay beside him, marveling at how relaxed he looked when he was asleep. His dark hair was disheveled, sticking up in a way that I knew he would hate, but that I still found incredibly sexy. His facial features were a bit more relaxed, taking him from his typical intimidating glower down to a look that I would probably call moderately annoyed. I snickered softly at how even in his sleep, Enzo still retained some of his ‘don’t fuck with me’ attitude.
I let my gaze wander down, admiring the dark stubble on his strong jaw and the way it made him appear more rugged rather than refined, and then farther, to the tattoo on his chest. This was the first time I had been able to really see it up close, and I noted a stark beauty in the branches that decorated his body. The dead tree appeared more than simply dead, the artist’s rendering of it so detailed that it gave off a host of emotions that I could feel as I looked at it: hopelessness, sorrow, longing, and even anger.
All the things I thought Enzo must have felt at some point in his life.
Reaching out, careful not to disturb him, I gently traced my fingers over the stark black ink, smiling at the warmth of his skin. The tree on his body may have been designed to appear dead, but my husband was unquestionablyalivein the most fundamental sense of the word.
I leaned closer, spreading my whole palm on Enzo’s chest, feeling his strong heartbeat beneath my hand and letting the heat of his body infuse me, feeling like that touch alone was warming me from the inside out. Closing my eyes, I inhaled, reveling in his sandalwood and smoke scent, feeling my cheeks heat when there was no mistaking the heavy smell of sex as well.
Enzo grunted, and I made to move back to my side of the bed, but his arm came around my back, pulling me close so my entire body pressed up against the length of his, bringing back the memories of last night and causing a gentle shiver to roll through me.
“Where do you think you’re goin’?” he asked. His voice was still rough from sleep and his words stroked over my skin as though they were capable of physical touch, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” I said quietly, smiling when he opened his eyes at my statement.
Sliding his hand farther down my back and grabbing a handful of my ass, Enzo smirked, “Never feel bad about waking me if you’re gonna do it naked, babe.”
Not quite knowing how to respond, I simply leaned forward and pressed my lips to his, my heart rate increasing at the contact. Enzo grunted again, and what started as a simple peck to hide my mild awkwardness quickly dissolved into something more, his full lips opening as his mouth hungrily devoured mine. Enzo used the arm around me to press me even closer, my breasts squished against the hard planes of his chest as he ravaged my mouth. When his hand squeezed my ass again, an involuntary moan escaped me, the sound disappearing as he swallowed it into our kiss. Pulling back, Enzo looked at me, his face once again saying more than his words ever could, then, before I could register what he was doing, he rolled us and I found myself splayed on my back, Enzo hovering over me and looking as though he was going to eat me alive.
And I was very okay with that.
Spreading my legs with his knee, Enzo settled himself between them, the hard length of his cock pressed against my inner thigh, and I moaned again. Transferring his weight to one arm, Enzo used his free hand to palm my breast before trailing his hand up and once again encircling my throat.
He didn’t squeeze, but the firm pressure of his hand gave me an awareness, a knowledge that although Enzo was bigger than me, and fully capable of hurting me if he wanted, I knew in the depths of my soul that he never would.
Smiling softly, I met his eyes, my own suddenly brimming with the emotions of the moment as I relaxed into his hold, showing him that he had my trust, in this and everything else.
“Francesca,” he started, but a heavy knock at the apartment door stopped what ever he was going to say next. The tender look on his face retreated as his signature scowl appeared, tilting his head to glare in the direction of the door. When it remained quiet, he looked back at me, opening his mouth to continue what he was going to say, but the loud banging came again. “Motherfucker,” he snarled, rolling off of me and reaching for his pants. I sighed in frustration as the warmth of his body left me feeling chilled, but when Enzo withdrew a gun from the nightstand, thoughts of my unfulfilled libido disappeared. Following him out of bed, I snatched his black button-down shirt from the back of the chair and slipped it on, loving that it fell to about mid-thigh and doing my best to ignore the hungry look on Enzo’s face as we both headed for the living room.
“Francesca, stay back,” he instructed, but I just rolled my eyes. “I mean it. Let me see who it is.”
“I can handle myself, Enzo,” I started, but the desperate look he shot my way shut me up. Stepping back into the bedroom, I waited as he moved up the narrow hallway to the front door of the apartment. I couldn’t see him from where I stood, but I could hear his muttered, “Who the fuck is this clown?” as he undid the chain and opened the door.
“Can I help you,” he growled menacingly.
“I’m looking for Francesca De Marco,” came a voice I never thought I’d hear again. My blood ran cold, and I froze, unable to reconcile the reality of that voice being here in Las Vegas.
Before I could gather my wits and move, Enzo spoke again. “Who the fuck is askin’?”
“Special Agent Eric Morrison, FBI.”
Creeping out of the bedroom, I approached the hall on quiet feet, peeking around the corner to look, but all I could see was Enzo’s broad back where he had wedged himself into the small space he’d left when he’d opened the door. He had one hand propped casually against the door jam, in full view of Eric, but the other he held behind the door, the gun still in his hand and his trigger finger ready.
“You got a warrant, Special Agent?” Enzo continued, his voice cold and menacing.
“I’m not here on official business. I just wish to speak with Francesca.”
“Well, I ain’t really in the habit of grantin’ wishes.”
“Listen, this is important. If I could just talk to her, just for a few minutes, I know she’ll want to hear what I have to say.” Doubtful. I didn’t especially want to hear a fucking word out of Eric’s mouth ever again, but I had to admit that I was sort of curious. Why the hell was he here? Why now?
